


Chasing Happiness

by twilight_shades



Category: Inception (2010), Leverage
Genre: Banter, Con jobs, Crossover, Dreamsharing, E-mail, Gunshot Wounds, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-19
Updated: 2017-07-19
Packaged: 2018-12-04 04:51:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,181
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11547846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twilight_shades/pseuds/twilight_shades
Summary: An Inception/Leverage crossover.  Arthur works with a new team - Hardison, Parker, and Eliot.  Eames annoys Arthur into keeping in contact.





	Chasing Happiness

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Do not own. Complete fiction.

Arthur doesn’t really know what to think when Eliot contacts him about working with them. Eliot tells him how some jobs need more than three to work and how they’d been sort of contracting out, working with allies and frenemies, alike, but there are other jobs that would just be easier with another team member, so they’re looking for someone on a more permanent basis. Arthur can understand that, in theory, but isn’t sure he can be what they need. Arthur isn’t sure about having a permanent team and actually settling in one place, but he needs something different than what he’s been doings, so he’s willing to try. While he knew something of how their old team worked, having watched a job of theirs unfold in parallel to some prep work he’d been doing, he doesn’t really get how the new team dynamic functions or where he’d fit into it. 

It turns out that not only do they need his point man skills (someone who keeps all the details straight, someone who knows a little about a lot of things and can research on the fly, someone with surveillance skills, someone who can fill in any gaps), but they’ve decided that dreamsharing should become part of their repertoire. They don’t want to use it in all jobs, just the ones where they think it will be more effective and/or less dangerous. 

So Arthur teaches them about dreamsharing. They want to keep it simple, uncomplicated, just use the dreamsharing as part of their bag of tricks – straightforward one-level extractions of information to be used in their cons, needing minimal prep work. Arthur can handle constructing those dreams, so he doesn’t worry about bringing in an architect. But he does show them all how to build, just to get an idea of what everyone can do.

Eliot can easily construct non-descript spaces – office buildings, warehouses, restaurants, basements, but his projections are extremely hostile, so they don’t let him populate the dreams, ever. Hardison’s dreamscapes tend to be futuristic, technology everywhere, even in places it really shouldn’t be. Parker tends to want to do everything as accurately as possible so that she can try out different routes to steal things, but Arthur doesn’t want her to not be able to distinguish between reality and dreams, so they compromise by giving everything the right properties, but changing the appearance of the target structure by making it look like it’s made of a different material or painted a different color or pattern and putting it in the middle of some well-known fictional location. Arthur’s actually pretty good at this, his imagination (yes, he has one) works best with some direction and a frame upon which to build. He’s quite proud of the Tower of London, looking like it’s made of snow and ice, sitting in Narnia and the polka-dotted Louvre in Wonderland, but the one he likes the most is the gingerbread house-like Metropolitan Museum of Art in Guilder.

Not that everything goes completely smoothly. Eliot likes to fight projections a little too much and so sometimes deliberately makes changes to provoke them. Parker’s projections will sometimes just randomly stab at dreamers with whatever pointy utensil happens to be nearby. Hardison just tends to get distracted, trying to find the tricks and traps. He hates it when anyone kills themselves to get out of a dream (and Eliot is never really thrilled when they use guns), so they tend to use kicks. Hardison also talks Arthur into building a couple of life-size video games dreams.

As for the real world cons, well, it turns out Arthur is pretty good at playing a cog in a business office, from mailroom guy to VP of marketing as long as he’s got a full backstory to work with. Weirdly though, he’s also really good at young and shy. It came about by accident, a quick character change-up was needed and they got rid of the slick hair, put him in a shirt that was slightly too big, told him to look down and not to speak much and when he did, do it softly, and flash a dimple every once in a while. And it worked, mostly because one of the others talked for him. People seemed to either want to take care of him or, well, take him. Or both. So they add that to his cast of characters (he also does a decent CIA/Secret Service/DoD agent, especially if he can be a silent and stone-faced partner to one of the others).

~~~

Arthur sort of keeps in touch with some of the dreamshare world, emailing Dom occasionally (along with Kalili, a good and trustworthy chemist, Lao, a former extractor, now a sort of middleman for clients who want to maintain their anonymity, Clary, a friendly rival point person, and Hunter, one of the first dreamsharers he met) through an account that Hardison guarantees can’t be traced. Then Ariadne badgers his email from Dom and Arthur sometimes gets random questions about dreamshare from her and sometimes just pictures or links to interesting architecture, which is actually kind of nice, so Arthur only gives Dom a little bit of hell for it. Not too long after that, Eames starts spamming Arthur with memes, cat videos, chain letters, links to clickbait articles, and pictures of meals. Arthur ignores it for a while, but finally breaks down and emails Eames.

From: t.crown@prise.net  
To: blacksmith_eames@vision_distribution.org  
Subject: Stop.

Mr. Eames,

Are you trying to get me to erase my account? Because one more cat video, and I will not only destroy this address and any indication it ever existed, but I will use my not inconsiderable skills and contacts to attach that picture of teenage you to every single email, text, or comment you compose ad infinitum.

A

From: blacksmith_eames@vision_distribution.org  
To: t.crown@prise.net  
Subject: Re: Stop.

Arthur,

After all the effort I went through to get this address, I had to make sure it was really you. Now I believe it is you, no one else could be so cruel.

Yours,  
Eames

From: t.crown@prise.net  
To: blacksmith_eames@vision_distribution.org  
Subject: What effort?

Eames,

You asked Clary and she told you. And if I was truly trying to be cruel, I’d use the picture from Iloilo.

A

From: blacksmith_eames@vision_distribution.org  
To: t.crown@prise.net  
Subject: I’ve never been to Iloilo

I asked Lao, then Clary, then Shad, then Vinnia, then I went back to Clary and promised her I would work two jobs of her choice with her, then I got this address. Also, I have no idea what picture you’re talking about.

Always,  
Eames

From: t.crown@prise.net  
To: blacksmith_eames@vision_distribution.org  
Subject: Yes, you have.

Eames,

Poor negotiation skills, Lao almost certainly would have let you have it for one job. Neither Vinnia nor Shad have this address.

A

Attachment: drunk_eames_bikini_iloilo.jpg

From: blacksmith_eames@vision_distribution.org  
To: t.crown@prise.net  
Subject: Not me.

I admit there was only an outside chance with Vinnia, but I thought Shad and you were close. That is not me in that picture. I can think of a reason or two I might end up in a bikini, though I don’t think I would choose one quite so small, or so very yellow, or so very ruffled, but there is no reason for me to be eating black currant jelly babies. I cannot stand black currant jelly babies and I repeat, I have never been to Iloilo. You’ve obviously doctored this photo.

Forever,  
Eames

From: t.crown@prise.net  
To: blacksmith_eames@vision_distribution.org  
Subject: I have better things to do with my time.

Eames,

Shad and I were together, but that ended. Badly.

1\. For that job in Borneo, you and Alain had been drinking before our plane was diverted. Then you drank a lot more. A lot.  
2\. There was a bet.  
3\. That was the closest you could come to an "Itsy Bitsy Teenie Weenie Yellow Polka-Dot Bikini". Alain considered it acceptable.  
4\. Black currant jelly babies were as close as you could get to purple people ala “The Purple People Eater”. You were much less happy about this versus wearing the bikini.  
5\. I don’t really know how the bet evolved and why it had to do with novelty songs, but that is you. You should be grateful more pictures don’t exist.

A

From: blacksmith_eames@vision_distribution.org  
To: t.crown@prise.net  
Subject: Well, then, that does explain it.

It ended badly? Really? Every time I’ve been on a job with him, Shad’s asked after you. Anyway, I couldn’t ask Cobb, I would have said something insulting and then he wouldn’t have told me. And Hunter, the next most likely candidate, would’ve sent me on a snipe hunt. By the by, how is it that only you have that picture? You enjoy looking at it, don’t you?

Eternally,  
Eames

From: t.crown@prise.net  
To: blacksmith_eames@vision_distribution.org  
Subject: No, yellow is really not your color.

Eames,

Shad proposed, I said no, there was a nasty argument, and it ended. I wasn’t aware he asked about me. If he asks in the future, please don’t give him any details. As for me having the picture, all the better to blackmail you with.

A

From: blacksmith_eames@vision_distribution.org  
To: t.crown@prise.net  
Subject: Are you imagining yourself as the Big, Bad Wolf to my Little Yellow Bikini Hood?

He’s obviously not over you. Not surprising, I myself would be inconsolable if I were ever to snare you and lose you, but I have never given any details (not any true details, at least) and shall continue not to.

Evermore,  
Eames

From: t.crown@prise.net  
To: blacksmith_eames@vision_distribution.org  
Subject: No, and keep your roleplay fantasies to yourself.

Eames,

Snare? I’m not an animal to be trapped.

A

From: blacksmith_eames@vision_distribution.org  
To: t.crown@prise.net  
Subject: But there’s one where you’re a wealthy man’s son and I’m a grimy stable boy.

Not an animal and not trapped, but a cunning and complex man who enjoys the chase.

Everlastingly,  
Eames

From: t.crown@prise.net  
To: blacksmith_eames@vision_distribution.org  
Subject: No.

Eames,

I’m not much for getting caught.

Good Night,  
A

From: blacksmith_eames@vision_distribution.org  
To: t.crown@prise.net  
Subject: You know you want to know more.

I’d make it worth your while. Good Night, Arthur.

Perpetually,  
Eames

Arthur finds himself smiling at the end of the exchange. And if, as time goes on, he answers more of Eames’ emails than he doesn’t, and if he maybe answers more of them than anyone else’s, well that’s nobody’s business but his own. Or so he thinks until he wakes up one day to find Parker hanging upside-down in front of him, asking, “So, Eames?”

“What?” Arthur asks, stalling some, but also genuinely distracted by wondering how the rope attached to her harness is suspended from his ceiling. Is that a pulley up there?

“You’re not unhappy, but you aren’t happy. But you smile sometimes when Eames emails you. He’s in Mombassa, right?”

“Happy? What? You think bringing Eames here will make me happy?”

“Oh, I didn’t think of that. I just thought I’d maybe call, find out what he does to make you smile and then we could do more of that. But, yeah, we could steal Eames for you.”

“No, no, that’s… sweet. But I, uh, don’t think that’s a good idea. And, you know, you’re right, I’m not unhappy and it took some time and effort to get here, so happy may just take some more.”

Parker sighs and nods. “Hardison thinks everyone should be happy. Eliot and I know that sometimes happy is hard. Not just to get to, but it’s hard to trust. Sometimes it’s hard to let yourself be happy.”

Arthur looks down for a moment and then looks at her again. “Yeah.”

“I was hoping for an easy fix because I like those. Feelings are so messy.”

“Yes, they are.” Arthur debates with himself for a moment, but he wants to give her something. “You can’t do what Eames does because you’re not Eames. But being useful helps and knowing that my happiness matters, that helps.”

She considers this and then nods decisively. “Okay. But if you don’t get happier, stealing Eames will be back on the table.”

Arthur puts his head in his hands, takes a deep breath and says, “Park-“ cutting himself off as he lifts his head and she’s not there. He looks around, but she’s gone.

~~~

Arthur and Eliot are sparring, Eliot holding back. Arthur is a really good fighter (though he sometimes forgets that you have to factor in healing time in the real world since there’s no reset), but he’s not in Eliot’s league. They’ve gone all-out in dreams a few times, naturally. But right now it’s just an easy exchange of blows, meant to sharpen reaction time and reflexes, not hurt.

“So, I supposed to ask you if you need anything. Or if we can help you with something. Or something,” Eliot says, reluctantly.

Arthur pauses, almost get hit, and then gets back into it. “Is this about being happy? Because Parker already asked.”

Eliot sighs. “Hardison is a worrier.” Eliot makes a face. “I mean, Parker and I care about your, uh, we care, it’s just- Crap.”

Arthur laughs a little. “You and Parker are about actions. If you can fix something by doing, you will. Hardison’s a talker. He thinks words help. And you and Parker are trying to do it his way.”

“Yeah. And sometimes they do. But we didn’t have any better plans, so… Although, now Parker wants to steal your Eames.”

“He’s not my-“ Arthur stops, regroups. “I appreciate the thought, from all of you. It’s, it’s good being a part of a team that- I feel like I matter here. But please don’t let Parker steal anyone for me.”

Eliot laughs. “You know that if she’s decides it’s the best thing, there ain’t nothing anybody can do to stop her.”

Arthur frowns at him and tries to sweep his legs out from under him. It doesn’t work.

~~~

Arthur and Hardison are putting together information on a new mark, both electronic (Hardison) and observed (Arthur). Arthur knows that his aptitude for information gathering is something that both annoys and pleases Hardison. Right now, though, Hardison is distracted. He looks like he’s about to say something several times, but then turns away. Arthur waits.

“So, Arthur…”

“Yes?” Arthur asks politely.

“Met anyone lately?” Hardison asks casually.

“What?”

“You know, a lady. Or a guy. Or both, both is good. Just someone that could be a special someone. Or a casual someone. Or if you’re not into that, someone to hang out with.”

Arthur furrows his brow and tilts his head, looking at Hardison in confusion for a moment before answering tentatively, “Uh, not asexual. Bi, if that’s what you were trying to ask.”

“No, well, I mean I guess that’s kind of what it sounded like, but that’s not really what I meant.”

“You were fishing for something else?”

“Let me try this again. What do you do when you’re not working with us? Like for fun, not life’s little mundanities. ‘Cause I play against other gamers. And I occasionally hang out with some of my foster siblings. I also have this group that- well, never mind what we do. Eliot has buddies from the military and some not-friends from his former line of work. And he cooks. He also sometimes helps out at a group home, but don’t tell him I told you that. Parker, she also likes to steal things when not on the job, but she likes to try out any new and really, really dangerous thing she hears of. But she’s got her old mentor and even a couple of friends. Plus, we _have_ each other. And there’s Nate and Sophie. You don’t call anyone. You’re never in the middle of something you can’t leave. You haven’t visited anyone and no one’s visited you. You don’t seem to have any hobbies, I mean, you spar with Eliot and you read up on whatever we’re doing next, but that’s all work-related. You email only a few people and not very often. Well, until Eames got a hold of your email address, but you still don’t email him that often, even though you seem to enjoy it. Man, I didn’t know you had dimples until then and that’s just sad. So, what I was asking is what do you do for you? What do you have in your life that makes you happy?”

Arthur studies Hardison silently. Part of him wants to tell him that this is Arthur’s business, part of him wants to deflect and distract. Instead, he goes with the truth. “I’ve been burned a few times. Been happy, then had everything go to hell.” He thinks about his parents, then foster homes. He thinks about the almost adoption, then the group home. He thinks about the military and finding his place and getting involved in the dreamshare experiment, then the higher-ups playing mad scientist with dreamshare until they completely destroyed the sanity of half his unit. He thinks about meeting passionate, exuberant Mal and later Dom and working with them, then them going too deep and Mal unraveling until she was gone. “It’s going to take some time for me to relax. And then it’ll take time to think the sky won’t fall in if I let myself be happy. And then it will take some more time to actually believe it. And probably some more time after that because,” he pauses for effect and then deadpans, “I’m a little stubborn.”

Hardison snarks back, “The hell you say.” 

“I know, I hide it well.”

Hardison snorts then looks at him for a long moment. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“I know it can take some people a while. Man, why do I end up around all these people with such awkward relationships with the lighter emotions?”

Arthur shrugs. “Just lucky, I guess.”

Hardison raises an eyebrow and says, “You know if you take too long, Parker will steal Eames. And Eliot and I won’t even try to stop her.”

Arthur groans and puts his head in his hands.

~~~

From: t.crown@prise.net  
To: blacksmith_eames@vision_distribution.org  
Subject: A question.

Eames,

Are you happy?

A

From: blacksmith_eames@vision_distribution.org  
To: t.crown@prise.net  
Subject: Ecstatic

I am very happy that you’ve deigned to contact me first this time around. Beside myself with joy, really.

Faithfully,  
Eames

From: t.crown@prise.net  
To: blacksmith_eames@vision_distribution.org  
Subject: Re: Ecstatic

Mr. Eames,

Never mind. Forget I asked.

A

From: blacksmith_eames@vision_distribution.org  
To: t.crown@prise.net  
Subject: Back to Mr. Eames, am I?

One step forward, two steps back with you. Of course I’m not going to forget – you not only contacted me first and of your own volition, but enquired after my mood.

Devotedly,  
Eames

From: blacksmith_eames@vision_distribution.org  
To: t.crown@prise.net  
Subject: Are you upset with me?

Arthur, why haven’t you answered? You’re supposed to skewer my ego or impugn my everything with your clever ripostes. That’s the way this works. I’m not supposed to keep refreshing my email account for hours waiting for your reply.

Longingly,  
Eames

From: blacksmith_eames@vision_distribution.org  
To: t.crown@prise.net  
Subject: Was that meant to be a serious question?

Because if so, I am very sorry, but you must understand, my dear Arthur, you don’t ask me the serious questions – you flay me with your sharp wit, you banter with me, you threaten me. But now I must ask a serious question back: are you okay? I thought for sure my last email would provoke you into replying, so please answer, else I will be forced to go to Cobb to find out where you are and I will probably tell him some very ugly truths about himself if I do that. Don’t think I won’t.

Anxiously,  
Eames

From: t.crown@prise.net  
To: blacksmith_eames@vision_distribution.org  
Subject: It was just an idle question.

Eames,

Apologies for not playing the part right. I am not injured or in any danger at the moment. I will be away from email for a few days, so don’t go harass Cobb if you don’t hear from me for a while. He doesn’t actually know where I am.

A

From: blacksmith_eames@vision_distribution.org  
To: t.crown@prise.net  
Subject: I’m not sure I believe you.

Goodness, Arthur, how do you do that? I could feel the condescension in your writing. That’s not exactly what I asked, by the way, but I suppose it will do for now. I shall miss you awfully, but don’t worry I won’t pester Cobb, though it’s vaguely troubling to me that even he doesn’t know your whereabouts – not that he’s the most trustworthy fellow, but I did think you would have let him know. 

Yearningly,  
Eames

~~~

Arthur almost falls into the cabin, once he gets the door open. He thinks it’s a hunting cabin, although there’s a stream pretty close to it, so maybe fishing? Though it’s in pretty good condition, it has an air of disuse about it, not that surprising during this part of the winter. It’s just one large room, a bed, a trunk, a dresser, a wood-burning stove, a wood bin, a counter with drawers and cabinets underneath, a table, and a couple of chairs. There’s no electricity or running water. It’ll do. Arthur lurches over to the counter and looks in the drawers and thankfully finds matches. He goes to the wood bin, gets a few pieces of kindling, almost dropping them, and puts them in the stove. He starts a fire and then goes back to the counter and crouches to look in the cabinets and finds a couple of pots and pans and a kettle. He grabs the kettle and stands back up, almost falling over. He looks longingly at the bed with its bare mattress, but he’s pretty sure if he lies down, he’s not getting back up any time soon and he has a few things he has to take care of first.

Arthur is methodical as he does all the chores he’s set for himself in his mind before he can lie down. He fetches water from the stream, forcing himself back out into the cold. He gets back to the cabin, puts the kettle on the stovetop, and gets the door wedged tightly shut with one of the chairs. He hunts through the trunk and find some bedding and quilts and makes the bed. He also finds something in the dresser that will work for a better makeshift bandage than the one he’s got on right now. The kettle whistles and he pulls it off the stove with a towel and lets the water cool. He slowly pulls off his jacket and vest, ruined by the gunshot and blood. It’s no great loss, the navy suit was not a favorite, he really doesn’t know how he let Santi talk him into it. The vest had been nicely fitted and kept his shirt-as-bandage pressed closely to the wounds of the through-and-through shot. He peels the cloth off the wounds and uses the now warm water to clean them as best he can and then he puts a new makeshift bandage on. He considers and then puts the vest back on.

Finally, the cabin has started to really heat up. He looks at the stove and wonders if the people that shot him and then threw him in the car trunk will be able to find him from the smoke. Maybe. But then again, they may not even have realized that he’s escaped yet. He’s not sure it matters that much, without the heat from the fire, he’d probably die of hypothermia. There’s also blood loss, shock, the possibility of infection, and the possibility of damage to one or more vital organs to consider. He mostly likely won’t last until someone, good or bad finds him. He goes over to the stove and puts more wood in. He gets over to the bed and lies down, pulling the sheet and quilts over him. He hopes that Hardison, Eliot, and Parker won’t feel too guilty (he actually has no idea whether this is tied to his former work or his current, but he knows they’ll feel guilty either way, if only for not being there). As he finally succumbs to his body’s demands for rest, he finds himself wishing he had been just a little less brusque in his last email to Eames.

~~~

Waking up is kind of a surprise. Everything is bright and noisy and smells sharp and wrong. Wait, lights everywhere, beeping, disinfectant, God, he’s in the hospital. Well, that’s a little better than dead, he supposes. He can hear people talking, just outside the door. And that’s Parker, being really loud. Oh, they’re probably hoping he’s awake enough to overhear and figure out what name and associated backstory they’re using for him. So, Arthur is Martin Masters, Elliot’s his brother Matt, Parker’s his sister Mary, and Hardison’s her husband Jason Powers. Martin had gone camping, checking in with his siblings every other day, and when he didn’t check in when they expected, Matt had gone out looking. Elliot asks about whether there are hunting grounds near Silver Falls State Park. Arthur’s not sure if he was actually there or if this is just to throw anyone looking off-track, but he dutifully commits the park name to memory and comes up with a story about how he was camping and saw a deer and got shot by the fictitious careless and illegal hunters that Elliot is so clearly angling to blame.

Then the room is flooded with people, doctors, a nurse, two police officers, and Elliot, Parker, and Hardison. Arthur gets the story out, a little hazily. It gets him concerned looks from Elliot, Parker, and Hardison, probably not sure if it’s real or if he’s doing it for effect (honestly, it’s a little of both). There are lots of questions and then finally the room clears out some, leaving the four of them alone.

“I’m really sorry,” Parker says remorsefully.

“Why? Even if those guys were connected to a Leverage case, it’s not your fault,” Arthur says.

“Oh, actually they weren’t. And not to your former line of work, either. It was, believe it or not, a case of mistaken identity,” Hardison says with a shake of his head. “That doesn’t mean they still won’t pay for it, of course.”

“Yeah, they will learn from their mistakes,” Elliot says with a growl.

“So, then what are you apologizing for?” Arthur asks Parker.

Parker cringes a little. “I didn’t _steal_ him, but uh…”

Arthur stares at her in horror. “Oh, no, Parker, tell me you didn’t contact-“

Eames slams through the door. “I cannot believe you tased me, you bastards,” he says angrily.

“We didn’t have much to go on at first. And at that point we thought it might have something to do with the dream thing, so I called him. And I might have kind of made him think you might be dead. Accidentally. And then he came and found us and he was really upset.” Parker says apologetically.

“And so you tased him,” Arthur says.

“We’d tracked the car and found where you’d escaped. Elliot was tracking you and we were waiting for his call to say he’d found you, but Eames was being really loud and I was afraid we’d miss it. Plus he threatened Hardison,” Parker explains.

“And so she _tased_ me!” Eames yelps indignantly.

“You shouldn’t threaten Hardison,” Arthur says mildly.

Eames looks incensed. “I was upset! I thought you were dead!”

“Yeah, I thought so too. Did not expect to wake up,” Arthur says musingly, wincing internally when he realizes he’s said it out loud.

That silences Eames. He looks awful, pale and tired and distraught. 

_He cares_ , Arthur thinks suddenly. _He cares a lot. About me. For me. Maybe, maybe even in love with me._ It’s revelatory, though Arthur knew that Eames wouldn’t have tried so hard to keep in contact if he hadn’t felt something for Arthur. Arthur had assumed Eames’ feelings were more in the nature of friends or found family (of the annoying and weird cousin variety). After all, even with all the flirting Eames had done, he’d rebuffed Arthur both times Arthur had approached him (and not nicely either). Arthur hadn’t been offended, but had been confused, especially when the flirting had continued. Ultimately, Arthur had decided that flirting was just the way Eames generally interacted with other people and even if he sometimes turned it up to eleven with Arthur, there was no real intent behind it. Now, Arthur doesn’t know what to think. Of course, he did lose a lot of blood and, given how he feels, he’s on some pretty good pain medication, so maybe he’s not reading this right. Or maybe Eames is just that damn contrary. Arthur wants time to figure that out, but he’s not going to get it now, exhaustion already pulling at him, making his blinking slower and heavier, until he’s out.

~~~

When Arthur wakes up again, it’s quieter, dimmer, and the only other person in the room is Eames, in a chair beside the bed. He’s looking at something on a tablet with a troubled expression. The volume is turned low, but Arthur catches enough to realize it’s from the team’s “heist” with the fake pirate thing – they’d actually ended up stealing a 19th Century replica ship.

“Eames.”

Eames looks up and then taps the screen, stopping the playback. “Arthur, you play a very convincing down on his luck university student,” Eames says, very flatly.

Arthur’s not sure what’s going on with Eames. “Thank you?” he ventures, making it a question because it doesn’t really sound like a compliment in that tone.

Eames leans forward. “Are you happy, Arthur?” he asks abruptly.

Arthur blinks. “Trying to be. Maybe getting there.”

Eames nods slowly and doesn’t say anything else, looking a little dejected.

“Is something wrong, Mr. Eames?”

“You’re never going to come back, are you? I thought this was just a break. You’d spend a little time off and then come back and be the world’s sharpest point man. But that’s not going to happen, is it? You like it here, with them. You’re good here. Well, not right now, in hospital, but that does seem to be a genuine case of mistaken identity. You’re not coming back and maybe you never were. Would you ever have contacted me if I hadn’t’ve got hold of your email?”

“I-“

Eames holds up a hand. “No, wait, I’m not certain I want the answer to that.”

Arthur sighs. “What do you want from me, Eames?” he asks and if it comes out a little plaintively, well, he’s been shot and is now on medication.

“I thought, I thought there was a chase. Me after you. And even though you aren’t much for being caught, I thought you might let yourself get caught, by me. I thought you were in it too. I guess it wasn’t any more real than anything else in dreamshare. I want, wanted you to want to. I wanted to be the person you complained about other teams to. I wanted to be the one you shared your thoughts, your meals, your… life with.”

“You are an idiot.”

“Well, yes, apparently I am, if that is your response to my pouring my heart out,” Eames says with dark humor.

Arthur gives him an unimpressed look. “Four years ago, March, the Telconn job, as we were packing away for the night two days before the extraction, I asked if you wanted to come to my hotel room. You snorted at me and left. You didn’t talk to me for the rest of the job unless it was absolutely necessary. Then you avoided working with me for almost six months. Then-“

“But, you-“

Arthur holds up a finger, stopping whatever Eames was going to say, and continues. “Then, three years ago, January, after the Cromier job bottomed out because the client died of a heart attack, I thought maybe you didn’t just want sex and I asked if you wanted to get dinner, maybe see a show, and I said if it went well, we could do it again. You told me to ‘Fuck off.’ I didn’t see you again for eight months. So, whatever chase you had going on, I don’t think you actually did want me. Because when you caught me, you didn’t even try to hold on. And you didn’t even just let me go, instead you shoved me away and ran in the other direction. Maybe you didn’t believe I was serious, but you didn’t even ask. I thought I just read you wrong, but no, I didn’t, you were trying to get me, you just didn’t actually want me once you had me.”

“Arthur, no, I did, I do. I just, you’re right, I didn’t think you were serious. I thought you were having me on. You barely seemed to tolerate me some days and then suddenly you were asking me out? It was too easy for it to be more than joke to you. I was supposed to work for it. You are many things, Arthur, but easy has never been one of them.”

“Not easy, Mr. Eames, just straightforward. Not quite the same thing.”

“Perhaps not. I’m so often wrong-footed with you Arthur.” Eames sighs and stares at Arthur for a long moment before asking sadly, “Is that it, then? Have I lost my chance?”

“Sometimes you have to acknowledge that something just isn’t going to work.”

Eames looks down. “I see. Well, I should probably get-“

Arthur cuts him off. “On the other hand, I am a believer in doing something until you get it right.”

“And which is this?” Eames asks, looking at Arthur, a hopeful note in his voice as he gestures between the two of them.

“Are you happy, Mr. Eames?”

Eames frowns and starts to answer, then pauses and studies Arthur. Arthur can see it when Eames realizes that the question is important to Arthur and Eames’ answer could be the deciding factor for Arthur’s answer. Eames takes a few moments and then says, “I am generally on an even keel, when everything isn’t going to hell, and sometimes, even when it is. I would call myself happy, though, with you around, even just talking or bloody emailing. Not always, because Good Christ can you be annoying. I feel more alive, more present, around you. I feel… real with you.”

Arthur stares at Eames, surprised. Because for the man that Eames is, a dreamsharer, _a forger_ , that’s a hell of a confession. Arthur takes a deep breath and asks, “Would you like to go out with me some time?”

Eames smiles delightedly. “Arthur.”

“Is that a yes? Because if you tell me to fuck off again, so help me God, I will-“

“Shoot me, I’m sure.”

“Oh, Mr. Eames, I can be a great deal more creative than that,” Arthur says silkily, menace in his smile.

“How inappropriate is it that I am very aroused by the mere thought of you doing imaginatively horrible things to my person?” Eames continues before Arthur can answer, “Yes, that’s a yes, very much a yes. Yes, please.”

“You’re right, though, I’m not coming back. I like it here. I like… my team. We even do some dreamshare ourselves. I fit here. So, you’ll have to come here to see me. Or I guess we could meet somewhere in-between here and wherever you are, but I won’t be able to stay for long. Don’t want to leave my team in the lurch.”

“I don’t suppose your team could use a man of my talents, could they? I mean, if that would be something you might be amenable to. It’s just, I find that I quite miss working with you.”

“I would have to talk to them, but something tells me they’d be okay with it.”

Eames gets up out of his chair, takes down the rail on the hospital bed, and perches there beside Arthur. He reaches out a hand and cups it around the nape of Arthur’s neck. He rubs a thumb lightly over Arthur’s cheekbone. Then he braces his other hand on the bed near Arthur’s head and leans in and kisses Arthur, whisper-light, on the forehead, then on the cheek his thumb isn’t resting on, then on the lips, a little deeper, but still soft. He pulls back and smiles at Arthur. Eames rubs his cheek again with his thumb and asks, “Arthur, are you happy?”

Arthur looks at Eames and considers. He smiles and says, “Yes, I think I am.”

The End

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know if you find any typos or if the format is messed up or if you think I need any tags.


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